


I Tried to Do Handstands for You (but Every Time I Fell for You)

by marauders_groupie



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 'show me how to kiss' trope, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5224475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauders_groupie/pseuds/marauders_groupie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke can't even remember a time when Bellamy wasn't a part of her life. He'd always been there, through good and through bad since she was eight years-old. And she's got a suspicious feeling that he'll be there at the very end.</p><p>Childhood friends to lovers, featuring Bellamy and Clarke falling down a lot, being awkward, practising kissing on each other and - Wells/Raven because why not? Fluff that's best read after you make an appointment with your dentist!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Tried to Do Handstands for You (but Every Time I Fell for You)

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have some light-hearted fluff because God knows that I'm just breaking my heart with all of those emotional and deep fics I write. And I'm probably breaking yours too. I'm very sorry (not sorry at all, oops).
> 
> Also - Wellven! Can we talk about how awesome Wellven is? Please, let's do that!
> 
> The title is from Chairlift - Bruises and it's such a cute song and so fluffy I'm going to die. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Clarke remembers the day the Blakes moved in two doors down very well because it’s the exact same day she sprained her ankle.

She’d been playing in the treehouse her dad built for her as compromise between a dog and a sibling (both of which she wanted at the time) when she fell down, her ankle twisted at a weird angle. It hurt a lot, too, enough to send tears to her eyes as she sat on the grass, holding onto it and trying not to yell outright.

Her parents didn’t hear her and she tried to move but she couldn’t – her ankle was swelling, pink and blue bruises blooming across her skin.

“Do you need help?”

A boy only slightly older than her was standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his jeans’ pockets. He was frowning at her and her first response was to say no.

But she _did_ need help – the pain was getting worse and no matter how much she called for her parents, no one was coming.

She nodded, biting back the tears – she would not cry in front of this boy. He looked fiery and brazen, an older boy who probably ruled the playground. Clarke knew those – she’d just punched Murphy for picking on Raven the other day.

“What happened?” the boy asked, crouching next to her and inspecting her ankle, careful not to press his fingers to it hard enough to hurt.

“I fell. Off of there,” she clarified, pointing her finger at the treehouse. She still loved it, it didn’t matter that it had betrayed her.

The boy’s eyes widened. “All the way down here?”

“Yup.”

“Wow, you must be made of some strong stuff. I would’ve keeled over.”

Clarke chuckled and the boy grinned. Maybe he wasn’t _that_ rude.

“What’s your name? I’m Bellamy.”

“Clarke.”

“Well, Clarke, I’m not gonna lie – your ankle looks pretty bad. Can you walk?”

She shook her head, tears welling up again when she accidentally moved it just a bit. Bellamy huffed, brows furrowing before he seemed to think of something and his smile returned.

He looked nicer when he smiled – almost as if he wasn’t one of those older boys that wanted to push her friends around. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe she was wrong.

“Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m going to carry you to your house, if that’s alright with you?”

Clarke nodded and Bellamy wound his arms under the backs of her knees and her shoulders. He lifted her up like it was no problem at all and her eyes widened of their own accord.

“You’re _strong_.”

“I have a sister, piggyback rides are a must,” he said, smiling at her all the while as they crossed her garden towards the back door. “How old are you? Maybe she’ll be in your class.”

“Eight. I’m in Mr. Sinclair’s class.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy nodded. “That’s where Octavia is going to be, too. Do you mind helping her out? We’re new to the neighborhood.”

“Of course. Does she like ponies?”

Bellamy blinked at her. Ponies were serious business. She couldn’t be friends with someone who didn’t like _ponies_.

“She does.”

Clarke nodded, serious, and that seemed to make Bellamy laugh because he was still shaking with laughter when they stepped inside her kitchen.

“Mom! Dad!”

When they arrived they thanked Bellamy over and over again. After that, they rushed her off to the hospital where her ankle was set and she got a pink cast with instructions to have her friends sign it so she’d get better faster.

She also got a lollipop and a sticker so the whole sprained ankle ordeal wasn’t really _that_ bad.

Octavia came to school on Monday and Mr. Sinclair asked all of them to help her adjust. When she did her introductions, she said that she had an older brother – Bellamy – who was two years ahead of them, and that she liked reading, coloring and _ponies_. 

She and Clarke became the very best friends during the recess. Raven and Wells loved her, too – especially because Raven liked to crack crude jokes Octavia would laugh at and because Wells was as shy as Octavia was talkative.

The three of them were the kings of the playground that year. Bellamy told them that they were a force of nature, storming the monkey bars with their cries echoing around the school, and he even made Clarke a paper crown when she had her cast taken off.

“The princess can return to the castle,” he announced, as serious as he’d been when he saw her fall.

The crown was green and really very pretty so Clarke muttered a quick thank-you as he smiled.

He also put Murphy in his place and all the other boys seemed to listen to him so the four of them – Octavia, Raven, Wells and Clarke – became virtually untouchable. They were free to do as they please and the first year of Bellamy and Octavia in their neighborhood would forever be imprinted into Clarke’s memory.

 

 

 

**

 

 

“But can you do handstands?”

Clarke frowned at Bellamy, draped across the couch her dad put in the treehouse. Wells and Raven were sitting on the floor, playing Monopoly, and Octavia mostly took to throwing popcorn at them.

They were all twelve, except for Bellamy who was fourteen and awkward. His hair was constantly ruffled, full of dark locks he couldn’t tame no matter how hard he tried, and he was lanky and scrawny – jutting knees, limbs too long for his body and glasses sitting crooked on top of his nose.

He was still Bell, though – Octavia’s older brother, one of Clarke’s best friends – putting marshmallows in their hot chocolate, rolling his eyes when they blasted music too loud and covering them with blankets when they fell asleep on the couch.

It was sweltering hot summer that made them retreat into the shade of the treehouse that seemed to become smaller as they grew bigger. Bellamy couldn’t even stand upright in fear of hitting his head at the rafters.

“Handstands?” Clarke repeated, unsure of what he was trying to say.

“Or cartwheels.”

“No and I have no intention of doing them.”

“So how are you going to celebrate when you’re happy if you can’t do cartwheels or handstands?” Bellamy deadpanned.

Clarke blinked, confused. He seemed so perplexed she couldn’t do them that it made her laugh after a while, attracting attention from the rest of their group.

“What’s so funny?” Raven asked, opening her palm to Wells who threw a crumpled 200 dollar Monopoly bill at her. “You’re such a sore loser, Jaha.”

“And you’re cheating, Reyes.”

“I’m not cheating, you’re just inept!”

“Okay, okay,” Octavia huffed. “So, you were saying - handstands?”

“Or cartwheels,” Bellamy added.

Clarke crossed her arms at her chest and raised her chin. “I am not doing them – I like my spine the way it is – _not_ broken.”

Eventually she had to because everyone else thought it was a great idea and Clarke’s sprawling garden was big enough for all of them.

Octavia was amazing, having trained gymnastics since she came to the neighborhood and winning competitions left and right, and Bellamy wasn’t bad either. The two of them jumped all through Clarke’s garden while she stood at the sidelines, watching them.

Raven and Wells bumped into each other and fell to the floor in a mess of tangled limbs and curses shouted out at the top of their lungs.

“Come on, Princess!” Bellamy called from the other side, waving at her as Octavia snickered.

“No, thank you!”

He sauntered over to where she was standing and grabbed her hands. “You can do it.”

“Excuse _me_ – have you heard of gravity?”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “You don’t even have physics yet.”

Everyone else was gone by the time he finally talked her into trying, and the sun was setting behind the neat rows of houses on their street.

Clarke looked at the lush grass in front of her, preparing her hands for the jump. Bellamy explained what she had to do but she still had her doubts – it didn’t seem possible to jump and balance her weight on her hands only.

“If I sprain my ankle again or break my neck, I’ll –“

“Kill me,” he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Come on. I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Clarke took a deep breath and lunged forward, planting her hands as firmly as she could at that speed and throwing her legs up in the air.

When she realized that she was standing – actually, properly standing – on her hands, she let out a nervous chuckle. “Bell – I’m doing it! I’m- _oh shit_!”

Her hands buckled under her just as Bellamy started whooping and she fell back – or forward, whichever way – landing on her knees with all of her weight.

“Shit!”

Bellamy was there but her knees hurt so much and tears prickled at the backs of her eyes – everything was too much and she couldn’t even hear him as she clutched her knees just like she’d clutched her ankle a long time ago.

“Wait here!” Bellamy told her, standing up in panic, eyes erratic. “I’ll – I’ll get something!”

She nodded, biting into her lower lip to stop herself from wailing. When she poked her right knee, she winced involuntarily. It wasn’t broken but it hurt a lot nevertheless, and she rubbed it as she waited for Bellamy to come back.

By the time he arrived with a pack of something frozen in his hands the pain had nearly ebbed away – sharp flashes turning into dull throbs she could handle.

“Here – I got you-“

“Strawberries,” she finished for him, staring incredulously at a pack of frozen strawberries in his hands. “You brought me strawberries.”

“It was the first thing I grabbed.”

“Strawberries, Bell,” she breathed, unable to suppress a giggle bursting from her lips.

His hands were gentle as he pressed the frozen strawberries to her red knees and she winced at the cold. But it numbed the pain and she sighed when she almost stopped feeling it completely.

“Better?” Bellamy asked, eyes alert behind the rims of his wire-framed glasses. Clarke nodded, watching a relieved smile stretching across his face.

Bellamy was all scraped knees and loud laughter, and she was really glad that he was her best friend.

“I’m really sorry about this,” he murmured, pressing the pack just a little harder. “I shouldn’t have made you do it.”

“Yeah, well, now I get to kill you so who’s the real winner here?”

“And if I get you ice-cream? Is that going to help?” he asked wryly.

“I could be persuaded into postponing your beheading, yes.”

“You’re twelve,” he gasped, horrified. “Stop talking like you’re sixty.”

“I’m _smart_. And you’d better go get that ice-cream.”

Bellamy mock-curtsied before he walked away. “As the princess wishes.”

Red hot pain seared through her knees, her favorite shirt had grass stains on it and she fell down doing handstands for him but she was happy. Bellamy was ridiculous, scrawny but he was her best friend and she couldn’t shake away the fondness she felt in that moment.

 

**

She was fourteen, Bellamy was sixteen and they were the only ones awake after a raucous slumber party at her house. Raven was drooling on Wells’ shoulder and Clarke had to bite down on the impulse to take a picture of it. The two of them fought like cats and dogs but she was pretty sure it was only because they liked each other.

A lot.

Octavia snored as Bellamy pressed a finger to his lips and motioned for Clarke to follow him into the kitchen. She complied because there wasn’t anything else to do, really – she just couldn’t sleep, high on sugar and salt they’d devoured with candy and popcorn, marathoning Harry Potter movies.

“Wanna help me do the dishes?”

“Bell, this is my house. I should be the one doing it.”

“Whatever,” he shrugged. “I’ll wash, you dry?”

She nodded, wondering why her best friend was a neat freak. He filled the sink with shampoo, soap bubbles rising into the air and catching at his shoulders and in Clarke’s curls.

He was sixteen and he was no longer awkward – where he was once thin now he was broad and muscly. Clarke barely reached up to his chin and she often complained about it – it wasn’t fair that he was that taller. Just yesterday they’d been the same height and now he could tower over her.

Not that he did. Bellamy would _never_.

He washed the dishes with precise movements, routine for him, and she dried them off before stacking them in the cupboard overhead. They had their rhythm around whatever they did, and it wasn’t hard to work with him. It wasn’t hard to do anything with him.

Perhaps that’s why she thought he would be the best person to talk about what she’d been going through.

“Hey, Bell?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Princess. Fire away.”

He still called her princess and she still tried to seem annoyed about it. In reality, she wasn’t, and that green crown he’d made for her was still on the top shelf in the treehouse – even if she hadn’t been there for quite a while now.

“So, um, you know how some people are bisexual?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, shaking a plate over the sink and sending water droplets flying at the window.

“I think I am, too. I mean, I like guys but – I think I like girls, too.”

Bellamy’s eyes flickered to her and then back to the sink. “That’s cool. So, any girls you like?”

“That’s it?”

“What?” he asked, turning off the tap and drying his hands at the rag she’d been holding, frozen in her tracks. She was expecting a reaction out of him. Instead, she got nothing.

And maybe that shouldn’t have surprised her. Bellamy wasn’t a dick. Well, he was – sure he was, all of them were a little asshole-y, but he wasn’t _that_ sort of a dick.

“That’s it, you’re just going to say ‘that’s cool’?”

Bellamy shrugged, his fingertips brushing against hers as he took the rag from her and hung it over the sink. “You’re bi, it’s fine. You can like who you like.” And then he frowned. “Did someone give you shit about it? Because if they did, I’ll-“

“Stop it,” she smiled. “Nothing happened. Besides, you’re the first one to find out. I just didn’t expect you to be that chill about it.”

“I was the first one you told?”

“Sure. You’re all wise and shit.”

“I _am_ wise,” he nodded, fake-serious, but his grin was back in an instant. “So, any girls you like?”

 

Two weeks later, she dropped on the bench next to him. Bellamy was just getting ready for soccer practice and she had time to spare. And things to talk to him about.

When he noticed her, he raised his head from his book on Caesar or some old fart (he was into history those days) and smiled. “What’s up, buttercup?”

Clarke groaned, lifting her legs to lean them on the bench in front. “Is this going to become a thing now? You greeting me like that?”

“It might.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“You always say that but for some reason I never see you acting on it.”

A couple of minutes passed in companionable silence as he returned to his book and Clarke started on her math homework. It wasn’t hard – math was never hard for Clarke – there was something forward and honest in numbers. You couldn’t read into them. What you saw was what you got.

But this time she couldn’t focus.

“So,” she started, clearing her throat and closing her notebook.

Bellamy smiled at his book. “There goes my boy Caesar killing a bunch of Gauls. Oh, Julius, you rascal.”

Clarke stared at him, seriously questioning his sanity, and then he rolled his eyes. “I am allowed to find role models in important people. Anyways, you were saying?”

“I have a date.”

Bellamy’s eyes widened and then he smiled. Clarke recognized most of his smiles – there was the grin, smug and relaxed. Then there was a smile he had only when he was really happy and he couldn’t contain it, all teeth and dimples. She had a feeling his cheeks really hurt after that. Lately, he started developing a smirk for wooing purposes but it must’ve leaked into his casual demeanor as well because he kept using it and it was actually oddly attractive.

Well, Bellamy was oddly attractive. Alright, it wasn’t odd – he was hot. Beautiful, actually. He had muscles, but they weren’t what caught her eye most of the time – it was his freckles, his smile, eyes crinkling when he laughed, constellations of stars dusted across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks.

It was weird and she decided not to think about it. He was her best friend.

“You have a date,” he parroted.

“We’ve established that. Yes, I have a date.”

“Do I know them?”

“Nice use of pronouns. And yes, you know her. Lexa Woods. She’s in your English class, I think?”

“You’re going on a date with Lexa?”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “She asked me out yesterday and we’re hanging out on Saturday. Her brother is in a band or something and we’re going to go watch them play.”

“Nice catch, Princess. Lexa is cool.”

“Yeah, anyways,” Clarke trailed off, worrying her lower lip. It was sort of weird to think about asking him for help but she couldn’t exactly ask anyone else. No one was as experienced as he was. “I’ve never kissed anyone.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, so I don’t want to embarrass myself when we kiss. If we kiss. Whatever.”

She rolled her eyes, trying for nonchalance even though it must have been pretty pathetic because Bellamy bit into his cheek trying to stop himself from laughing at her.

“It’s just kissing. Not nuclear science.”

“Yeah but I don’t know how!” she protested and then huffed, slumping on the bench. “She’s so cool, Bell, and I don’t want to be this inexperienced kid who drools all over her.”

“If she’s gonna think you’re an inexperienced kid about anything then she’s not worth it,” he stated, serious look in his face.

“It’s not about her, Bell,” Clarke rolled her eyes. “It’s about me. I don’t want to spend the whole date worrying because I don’t know how to kiss. I want to have fun and then knock her on her ass with my moves.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bellamy smiled. “I can understand that. So, you want tips or?”

“Sure, that’d be cool.”

He ran his hands through his hair – now messy, but in a good way. In a way that made girls and a lot of boys swoon. “Right, well. You want to go slow at first – it’s a first kiss, after all. And don’t shove your tongue down her throat,” he cringed and so did she. “Or something. I don’t- ugh.”

“You alright there?”

“Yeah, I just don’t know how to explain it.”

Her stomach plummeted and she started picking on the loose thread on her jeans as she spoke. “Well, you _could_ show me.”

Bellamy was quiet for a while and when she returned her gaze to him, she saw that he was frozen, incredulous look on his face.

“I’m sorry, I get it – we don’t have to if you don’t want to. I was just throwing ideas around.”

“No, it’s not that,” he shook his head. “I’m just – you want to kiss _me_?”

“Well, yeah, for practice purposes.”

“For practice purposes,” he repeated, eyes still wide. Clarke hummed in confirmation, waiting for him to get his bearings.

It wasn’t that she didn’t find him attractive – she did. Objectively. But this was really just about Lexa and the fact that she just knew she’d be all nerves throughout the evening. And that would probably scare Lexa away.

Besides, Bellamy was her best friend. She didn’t exactly see him that way. It was just a friendly, helping each other out sort of thing.

“I could ask someone else,” she offered. “If it’s weird for you. But I figured you’re my best bet.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, crossing his arms at his chest. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well, you are a little slutty.”

“Seriously, Clarke? You’re gonna slut-shame me now?”

“I was joking, you shitweasel,” she nudged his shoulder with hers but he was still frowning. “You know I don’t care about your slutty ways.”

“You’re such an asshole. Why are we friends?”

“Because Octavia liked ponies when I liked them. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I never do,” he sighed and then straightened up, placing his book aside and turning completely towards Clarke, his legs straddling the bench. He moved just a bit, enough for their knees to touch when she assumed the same position.

When she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, he chuckled. “You’re not marching into battle.”

“Shut up.”

“Alright, alright. So, you’re going to have to do something with your hands. They can’t just drop at your sides when you’re kissing someone. And close your eyes.”

“I know that,” she hissed, staring intently at his lips. They were nice lips. She was about to kiss them any moment now. “Should you just surprise me or are we going to do it on the count of three?”

“Should I _surprise_ you?” he asked, incredulous again. His voice was laced with laughter and she met his eyes, chin raised.

“Stop making fun of me. I am planning. Strategizing. This is serious-“

She was interrupted by the press of his lips against hers and the words died in her throat. His lips were soft, sort of nice on hers, but he wasn’t moving. After a while, the pressure dropped and now he was barely touching her.

Hands. Right. Something to do with them. The only thing that felt natural was to lean her right hand on his neck, and her left on his knee, moving just a little bit closer to him. When her fingers twisted in the curls on the nape of his neck, he shivered a little and she smiled, starting to move her lips against his.

She pressed feather-light pecks on them until he tapped the side of her thigh – his left hand just barely touching it, and his right coming up to cup her cheek and tilt her head just a bit to the left, slating their mouths.

His tongue darted out to trace the seam of her closed lips and she opened them instinctively, suppressing a moan that wanted to erupt when his teeth grazed across her lower lip and his tongue finally touched hers.

She could take it from there, gripping the back of his neck tighter and swirling her tongue around his, lips moving constantly. When she traced the roof of his mouth with her tongue, his hands slid into her hair and the grip he had on her leg tightened.

It was easy not to think about it when they finally caught a rhythm. She was just kissing him and it felt nice now that she knew what to do.

She knew the kiss was about to end when he closed his mouth and pressed another light peck to her lips, his hands moving away. It was weird but she didn’t want it to end – it was Bellamy, sure, she couldn’t keep kissing him without it becoming awkward but –

“That was nice.”

His lips were swollen and red as cherries when he moved away, and when Clarke noticed that he looked dazed she couldn’t help a giggle that burst from her lips.

Bellamy’s eyes searched her face and Clarke wasn’t sure what he wanted to find there.

 

**

For the following two years, Clarke watched Bellamy date girls who are nothing like her. They were tall where she was short (average height, if anyone asks, though), willowy where she had soft curves, and their brown locks fell down their backs where her blonde curls were cropped short.

She was not in love with him but she was jealous. He found time to date, study, play soccer while she was slowly forgetting what it had been like to have him be her best friend. Maybe it was time for the two of them to grow apart – Bellamy being eighteen and worried about his AP classes and getting into college, and Clarke being sixteen and still trying to get adjusted to this new world order.

It didn’t feel right but she said nothing, smiled at him as he squeezed her elbow in passing. She and Octavia danced in the middle of their living room, annoyed Aurora into telling them stories of her graduation trip to Europe – the one they wanted to go on when they’ve finished high school, and painted their toenails twenty different shades of pink.

They were having fun but it used to Bellamy they’d try new nail polishes on, without a single word of protest coming from him.

So Clarke watched him kiss gorgeous girls and smile at them like they’re the best things in the whole world, and she just missed when it was the two of them sitting on the bleachers and calling each other offensive names just for the fun of it.

 

**

Clarke was sixteen and a half when her father died, and she hid out in the treehouse during the wake. They didn’t want to tell her that he was sick – they just let her find out when he collapsed in the middle of their living room, her mother away and no one to tell her that it’s pointless to try CPR on him.

He was long gone, the cancer having spread throughout his body.

“We wanted to protect you, Clarke,” her mother said, rubbing her back as the ambulance drove away and Clarke refused to move from her spot in the middle of the street. Like she was waiting for her dad’s car to appear on the horizon and Jake Griffin to tell her that he was just kidding and she isn’t really mad, is she?

“We didn’t want you to count away the days you had left with him.”

She turned away and locked herself up in her bedroom. Three days she spent in there, not doing much else but sleeping and crying – rinse and repeat. Wells was the only one she let in and she let him hold her as she sobbed because he knew what it was like to lose a parent and Clarke knew he wouldn’t judge her for needing someone to pity her.

She would fight another day.

But she had to leave her room for the funeral and the wake after, when everyone just wanted to shake her hand and tell her how sorry they were. They weren’t to blame but it still felt perverse for all of those people to ask her if she’s alright. She wanted to scream and hit someone – something, and not even her friends could help.

Wells held Raven’s hand at the funeral and that was only to show how devastated she was by this. Bellamy and Octavia were quiet – there if Clarke needed them, but not pushing. They tried to push once and she’d slammed the door in their faces.

So she hid out in the treehouse, the last thing she had left from her dad. The plants were still alive – even if he weren’t.

Of course Bellamy would be the one to shout up at her, a crooked smile on his face.

“You just gonna hide up there forever?”

“I just might,” she replied, petulantly raised chin and her arms crossed. Who was he to judge?

“Can I come up?”

“Whatever.”

When he came up, he kept his distance. It was weird but she still knew that they were friends. Distant, but friends.

And he looked ridiculous in pressed black suit, with his contacts in. He wasn’t Bellamy, he was this distant guy who smiled at her because everything about this situation was awkward and she didn’t care much about his discomfort.

“We were thinking – Wells, Raven, O and I – we should hold our own wake for Jake. Something that isn’t all of this,” he waved his hand noncommittally, gesturing towards the house where Clarke knew are canapés and not-compassionate-but-pitying glances.

“Something genuine?”

Bellamy nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face in relief or affection. “Something genuine.”

Clarke let them drive her to the lakeside, her father an avid admirer of it – when it was too cold to swim, he’d fish, and the five of them found his rickety wooden boat, cramming themselves into it and paddling out.

Wells held her hand all the while and Octavia never moved too far from her; always attached to her, if only by their thighs brushing. It was comforting and even if it didn’t make her feel a whole lot better – it did a bit.

And a bit was just enough.

When they were far enough from the shore, Raven and Bellamy retracted their paddles from the water, and got a bottle of champagne out of a canvas bag. Clarke frowned at it but Octavia’s eyes begged her to wait and so wait she did.

Bellamy popped the cap, foam spilling all over their shoes, and each of them had a flute when he stood up, careful not to fall into the lake.

“To Jake Griffin, who was a father to those of us who didn’t have one, who always let us run around his garden and who will always be missed. Let us remember him by all the good he did. And let us not mourn his death but celebrate the life he had.” He raised his glass in the air and the crystal chiming of their flutes clinking made sadness burrowed into Clarke’s chest start to dissipate.

Raven was next and she kept her eyes firmly trained on the horizon. “To Mr. Griffin who always wanted to help me with my projects, who didn’t mind when I swore in his house and who was more of a parent to me than my mom ever was.”

“To Clarke’s dad,” Octavia threw her a sidelong glance, “who endured our pony phase and bought us a matching set of pink ones. Who was there to pick us up when we stayed out too late and who came to every competition I took part in.”

Wells squeezed Clarke’s hand briefly before he too stood up, and she nodded, wiping away the tears streaming down her cheeks. He would be missed, so missed.

“To Jake who always had a kind word for everyone, who was there when my mom died and who loved all of us like we were his kids. To Jake, and to those who think that they are left behind but they aren’t,” Wells smiled at his shoes. “Jake would never leave the ones he loved.”

Clarke didn’t bother wiping her tears again as she stood up, the last one to do it and the one whose hands trembled when she looked at them. There were so many things she still wanted to tell him but it was only on this lake that she felt like he was listening.

Maybe he was.

“I miss you, dad. I miss you and I want to be angry because you didn’t tell me anything. But I can’t, can I? I can’t be mad when all my life you just did what was right by me and by everyone. There are people who are fighting the good fight and I don’t think I’ve ever thought about you like that, but. You did. You fought the good fight and I want to believe that you still are. I miss you like crazy but I’m just really glad that we had all this time, all of these memories I have of you. Thank you for being there. Thank you for being my dad. May we meet again.”

They raised their glasses again and repeated her words, their voices echoing across the surface of lake. Missed, but remember. Missed, but loved. Her dad lived and he did his best.

Hours later, they were still on the lake, having paddled back to the shore and arranged themselves around a bonfire Bellamy made. The fire crackled and they were quiet, pressed into one another. Raven’s head was on Wells’ shoulder, her eyes open and trained on the fire as silent tears glistened in them.

Octavia was curled up into herself, chin leaned on her knees as she sniffed quietly.

And Bellamy – Bellamy was right next to Clarke, his arm slung around her shoulders and unmoving, grounding, _there_.

“I missed this, Bell,” Clarke finally breathed out. “I missed _you_.”

Her sadness still felt like an overwhelming, vast thing threatening to swallow her whole but at least it got quieter. With all of them around, it didn’t stand a chance of winning this fight. Not this time.

And then there was Bellamy, his suit jacket around her shoulders and keeping her warm, and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Grown up but not quite. It was still the boy with rolled up jeans because they were too long and threadbare t-shirts, books with cracked spines – his most prized possessions.

He was still in there somewhere and she missed how it used to be – this easy, this undemanding. Just the two of them and then all of them.

Bellamy glanced at her and she tried to say something but the words were stuck in her throat. He always was better with them.

“I’m sorry.”

She hummed, burrowing further into his side and smiling when he wrapped his arms around her properly.

“As long as you’re here now.”

“I will be, Clarke. I’m not leaving you again.”

 

**

But he left. Not in a way that made Clarke feel betrayed, no. In fact, she celebrated his departure along with all of their friends – he went to college. And a good one at that, although on the west coast. That meant she’d see him during the vacations but it wasn’t enough.

During Christmas break, he dumped a sack of flour into her hair and she spent the afternoon chasing him around with a sponge, grinning victoriously when his face was finally covered in bubbles. Their families – all of their families, adults and teens alike – sat in Clarke’s living room and ate cookies until they felt like they’d burst.

On Easter morning, all of them went to church and Bellamy helped Clarke on the egg hunt. He teased her for being a kid and when she shot back that he should shut up because he loves her, he just grinned. It was slightly unnerving but it wasn’t that bad.

It was the last day of school when two uniformed officers knocked on Clarke and Octavia’s AP History class doors and asked to see Miss Blake. Clarke knew she wouldn’t ever forget how Octavia stared at her, eyes wide and panicked, as the two of them got up from their seats.

The officers told Clarke more than Octavia (because the girl had been staring at the wall in front of her since they told her why they’d needed her) that Aurora Blake was in a car accident and there wasn’t anything the doctors could do anymore.

Clarke thanked them and returned to Octavia’s side, seeing hurt written across her face, burrowed deep into her eyes and making her body shake. She was quiet and she wasn’t crying, something that Clarke understood. Earth just shifted underneath her feet and all the emotions she must have been feeling were too much to even allow for crying.

“I’m so sorry, Octavia,” she whispered, wrapping herself around the girl who was still quiet and unmoving, eyes still wide and face still blank.

Bellamy arrived the next day and where Octavia’s face was blank because she was feeling too much at once, his face was blank because he put up the walls and that same mask to protect himself.

She watched the siblings organize the funeral, hold a small wake and go through it trying to hold their heads above water. They spoke to no one but each other if they could, and if they had to talk to someone their faces were devoid of any expressions, pain bubbling underneath the surface but not quite breaking out.

At least Clarke had her mother. They had no one. And no matter how much everyone tried to be there for them, they wouldn’t let them.

“I’ll handle this” was Bellamy’s go-to line those days and Clarke didn’t know what to tell him after that. He didn’t want help and Octavia didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Clarke tried and tried, dropping by every day, but nothing changed. Bellamy was still breaking glasses whenever someone mentioned his mother and Octavia still sniffled quietly when she thought no one could hear her. Life didn’t go on.

 

There was a bark tree in Clarke’s backyard, just beneath her window. She had never thought it would be good for climbing until she heard three short raps against the glass one night. It’d been three weeks since Aurora’s funeral and Clarke couldn’t sleep because she knew how alone Bellamy and Octavia must have been, despite the façade that kept everyone from being there for them.

But there was that knock and Clarke sprang from her bed. On the other side of her window, Bellamy was sitting on a branch and the look in his eyes broke her heart.

That night was the first time she saw him cry and when she embraced him, tight enough for him to know that she wouldn’t let go no matter how much he tried, he let her.

“Why are we so doomed, Clarke?”

“I don’t think we are, Bell,” she whispered, carding her fingers through his hair as violent sobs wracked his body. “I think we’re just a little broken. That’s all.”

They fell asleep in her bed that night – Bellamy no longer a boy with charming lines and suave smiles. Now he was just Bell again – wide eyes and a little lost.

She was seventeen and he was nineteen, only a summer in front of them to figure out what to do now that Aurora is gone, and maybe that is why Abby said nothing when the sight of the two of them curled up around each other in Clarke’s bed broke her heart.

 

**

Bellamy transferred to Ark University, a ten minute drive from their hometown of Ark and Clarke got used to seeing him around again. She and Octavia were in their final year of high school and things were slowly returning to where they once were.

Of course, no one could replace Aurora – not even Bellamy who tried to parent Octavia so hard until she finally snapped one afternoon and Bellamy had to come begging her to forgive him at Clarke’s.

“Stop trying to be her parent, Bell,” Clarke told him, quiet enough for Octavia not to hear. She was still fuming in Clarke’s room, almost burning through the carpet as she paced back and forth. “She doesn’t need a parent, she needs a brother.”

“You stop trying to be my parent,” he shot back and then realized how weak that was. The two of them laughed, all the nervous tension between them dissipating.

“College really ruined you,” Clarke smiled. “Your comebacks are way too weak.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here now.”

“You’re here now.”

She would have felt guilty for enjoying it so much if Ark U didn’t have a really good history program. And pre-med. And journalism, which was what Octavia wanted to study. The girl didn’t consider anything else except Ark U and Clarke wasn’t that keen on leaving them behind.

Her mother told her that she shouldn’t be making decisions based on what her friends did but it wasn’t just that. They weren’t just her friends. The whole town was her home and that’s where she felt best. She certainly wasn’t immovable but she wasn’t a modern-day nomad either.

No one knew where she decided to go since she applied to Harvard and Princeton as well. It was only logical that she would go there if she managed to get in.

The day of results found them sitting in a diner down the road and waiting for Raven. None of them wanted to be alone when the results came in and it was because of that that Wells stabbed his pancakes like they had personally offended him and Octavia was biting her nails, chipping the red polish. Bellamy was there as well, as he always was. He had friends in college but he never ditched the old squad.

The five of them were there at the beginning and Clarke had a suspicious feeling that they would be there at the end as well.

“Stop the world! Raven Reyes is in the house!”

Raven was wearing a suit.

An astronaut suit. The whole deal, with helmet and those horrible huge boots that made clanking sounds as she approached their table.

The whole thing was so shocking that Wells’ fork fell to the floor with a clatter and even Bellamy’s reply lacked its usual heat. 

“Cute, Reyes.”

She leveled him with a cool glare and took her seat, carefully fishing her phone out of her pocket.

“Are we gonna do this or what?”

“We are not doing anything until you tell us what the _hell_ you’re doing,” Wells stated.

Raven looked unimpressed behind the visor of her helmet and when she leaned forward on her elbows, she knocked a saltshaker from the table.

“I’m gonna be an astronaut. You watch me, Jaha. Ready?”

“Never,” Octavia grinned, pressing the fateful button that’d take her to her results.

A moment of quiet passed before everyone saw where they were accepted and then they dropped their phones.

“MIT bitches!” Raven shouted, jumping from her seat and this time she knocked absolutely everything off of their table but the rest of them could only laugh. “Guess who’s gonna be an astronaut? That’s right – Raven fucking Reyes!”

“Ark U,” Octavia smiled a small, happy smile. Those days she used those more than her full-fledged grins. It was a baby step but it was a step in the right direction.

Wells snorted in Raven’s direction, fond. “Harvard.”

Raven paused in the middle of her victory/chicken dance, eyes wide and surprised. “You’re going to Harvard? In Boston?”

Wells hummed in confirmation.

What happened next made the remaining three of them gape in shock, not even bothering to produce grossed-out noises because Raven removed her helmet and jumped at Wells, pressing her lips against his in an audible kiss.

Wells, for his part, seemed to be surprised at first but seemed to collect his bearings soon because Raven ended up in his lap and _that’s_ when the rest of them started protesting.

“This is disgusting,” Octavia said. “I do not need to see you two exchanging your saliva.”

“Excuse you, Blake, I’ve wanted to do this for ages,” Wells said as Raven beamed at him.

“I really hate you, Jaha. You’re the most annoying thing in this whole town.”

“You _love_ me.”

“Yeah,” Raven grinned. “I love you.”

Clarke could only congratulate the two of them, exchanging a glance with Bellamy that mimicked her sentiment perfectly – annoyed and fond. The two of them had it a long time coming, bickering constantly but ultimately hopelessly in love with each other.

It was gross but it was sort of nice.

Okay, it was really nice and Clarke smiled when Wells pressed a peck on Raven’s cheek, tucking her into his side and never letting go of her hand.

“So,” Bellamy cleared his throat, turning to look at Clarke. “Is it Harvard or Princeton, Princess?”

“Oh shit, yeah,” Raven pressed her hands to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

“It’s fine, Rae, you couldn’t hold yourself back. It’s not Harvard and it’s not Princeton.”

Bellamy’s brows furrowed as he studied her and the rest of Clarke’s friends were equally confused.

“It’s Ark U.”

“Ark?”

“Yeah, they’ve got good pre-med.”

“Right. Good pre-med,” Bellamy parroted, looking just a little bit incredulous.

Wells and Raven double-hugged her, making her the ham in their little sandwich, and Octavia shouted “Roomies!” which was probably going to happen anyways. And Clarke didn’t mind – she didn’t mind being close to home and didn’t mind seeing the Blakes every day.

It wasn’t that she was afraid of leaving and starting somewhere else. She just liked it here.

Bellamy didn’t say anything, just congratulated her, almost stand-offish as they were leaving the diner. Clarke watched Wells and Raven climb into his car which required Octavia to strategically push Raven inside because the suit was a bitch.

The three of them returned home in Bellamy’s run-down truck Clarke secretly loved, and it wasn’t until that night that she properly talked to him.

She was just about to get in her bed and open up the book she’d been trying to read for days now when the knocking on her window started.

Since the night after Aurora died, Bellamy came over often. He lived with Octavia, the university allowing him to live off-campus to take care of his sister. And he still came over at least once a week to sprawl over Clarke’s bed and talk to her about whatever’s going on at the moment.

He’d study on her bed sometimes, his eyes dazed when he raised his head and started ranting about Roman emperors and the real reasons behind wars, and she didn’t mind listening to him. He returned the favor when she got pissed off because she didn’t understand something they’d been doing in math, and they’ve returned to their regular rhythm.

So it was no surprise that it was him sitting on the branch when she opened her window and he expertly jumped in, tugging a messenger bag behind.

“Is this going to be about the Roman Empire again or are you all about Renaissance today? Because if it’s the former, I’m getting snacks,” she told him, pausing in her doorway.

Bellamy shook his head, dropping his bag on the windowsill and Clarke paused. “What’s wrong, Bell?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair and only mussing up his curls further. He was also wearing his glasses, something he did a lot lately after confessing that he was mortified of poking himself in the eye when he put in his contacts.

“Alright. So, chips or cookies?”

“Why are you staying here?”

Clarke shifted her weight uneasily, trying not to squirm under his gaze. “I want to?”

“Clarke.”

“What? I like it here! Ark U has a really good pre-med program and-“

“Is this about us?” he asked. “O and I? Because you don’t have to. We’ll be fine.”

“It’s about _me_ , Bell. It’s about me loving the hell out of you two and the hell out of this town. It’s where all the good things are. Why would I leave? Ark University is as good as any. And you two are there.”

Bellamy nodded after searching her face for a while and suddenly she was back on the bleachers, fourteen and asking him to teach her how to kiss. She’d kissed a lot of people since then but that kiss was still the best one.

“Alright.”

He leaned back, sliding his hands into his pockets and Clarke stepped forward to tell him not to lean too far back but-

It was too late. He leaned back and she saw his eyes go wide as he lost his balance and tumbled back through her window.

“Bell!”

She heard a moan and ran to her window, clutching the sill as she leaned forward.

“Bellamy!”

“I’m alive!”

It took her ten seconds to run downstairs and out into the garden but it seemed like hours, her heart beating fast and then almost stopping when she saw the amount of blood under him.

Bellamy was clutching his left arm to his chest and she could see the spot where the bone was protruding from his skin, blood gushing out of the wound.

She inspected the wound carefully and tried not to wince when she saw the white of the bone. He looked worse, his face going green with nausea as he turned his head away not to have to look at the blood and bone.

“I’m not going to lie,” she said. “It looks bad.”

And then he looked at her, held her gaze for a second or two, only for both of them to burst out laughing. She didn’t say it on purpose but it was still the same thing he’d told her when they first met and her ankle was sprained.

“Stop laughing!” she smacked his knee. “It’s not funny, your arm is broken!”

“It hurts like a bitch and it’s a tragedy so yes, I’m going to laugh,” he stated, tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

“Let’s get you to the hospital, come on. Your legs in one piece?”

His legs were in one piece but he moaned when she told him to sit down, probably having bruised his tailbone and so she had to help him lay down in the backseat, curling up her jacket under his head.

She drove with trembling hands, nervous chuckles bursting from her lips as he cracked jokes. Normal people don’t crack jokes when they can see their fucking bones. You’re not supposed to _see_ your bones.

“Can you get me my bag?” he asked just as they stopped at a red light and she handed him the bag, looking straight ahead. He rummaged through it and then she heard a lighter clicking and snapped her head back.

“You smoke?”

Bellamy shrugged, wincing when he moved his arm, and then dragged another smoke. “Nope. But if I’m going to die, I’m going to die with style.”

At that, Clarke had no other option but to laugh. Her laugh was loud and boisterous, all the nerves and the worry bubbling up and leaving her lips as that silly, stupid, ridiculous boy lay in her backseat, blooding oozing from the wound and joked around with a cigarette between his lips.

“So, I broke my left arm. I guess you could say that I’m all-right now.”

Suddenly everything fell into place and Clarke laughed again because she was falling deeply, deeply in love with him and she hadn’t realized it until just then.

Bellamy was rushed into CAT-scan as soon as they came in and she introduced herself. Perks of Clarke’s mom being a surgeon, he’d told her, grinning.

When they were prepping him for surgery he wasn’t grinning anymore. Instead he looked a little scared, a little lost and Clarke couldn’t stop herself from pecking his cheek and smiling when even his neck went red.

“You’re gonna be here when I wake up?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Bell. Now you behave nicely for the good doctors, alright?”

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, _mom_.”

“Good boy.”

 

She called Octavia when he was in the OR, let her know that everything was under control and she could come whenever she wanted to. Clarke knew she’d be there in less than half an hour but she was still alone when they returned Bellamy to the recovery room.

The thing about anesthesia is that it gets you high. Really, really high. And so the doctors laughed, settling Bellamy into the recovery room as he drooled all over his pillow with a goofy smile on his face.

“Is he going to be fine?”

“Oh, with _you_ – absolutely,” the doctor smirked, leaving Clarke very confused.

Still, she sat next to Bellamy and held his right hand, searching his face for any signs of pain or discomfort. Seeing none whatsoever, she slumped back into her chair, finally exhaling after long two hours of nothing but worrying.

“You’re here,” he smiled when he opened his eyes again and yeah, she was smitten.

“Where would I be? You fell out of my window, I have a responsibility.”

“I told the doctors you’d be here,” he announced, proud of himself.

“Did you now? And what else did you tell the doctors?”

“That you’re my favorite.”

“Favorite what?”

“Favorite.”

“Huh.”

She sat back in her chair, his hand still in hers, and his eyes were glassed-over as he grinned at her trying to make sense of his words. Favorite friend, favorite neighbor, favorite –

No, she wouldn’t do this. This was Bellamy, her best friend. Key word being friend.

“Claaarke?”

“Yes, Bellamy?”

“You make me feel all mushy inside. Like a- like a-“he frowned, trying to think of a word and then huffing when he couldn’t. “Mushy mush. And these butterflies, they suck. Tell Octavia that I hate butterflies and tell her that she was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

He yawned soundly and snuggled into his pillow. When he spoke again, his voice was faint, barely louder than a whisper and she couldn’t help a smile that crept on her face. “Stupid butterflies.”

“Really cute, Blake.”

He hummed and she pecked his cheek again. Gone.

 

“So, did I say something really embarrassing?”

After a night she spent curled up on the chair in his room, Clarke had an awful crick in her neck, she desperately needed a shower and she barely badgered Octavia into getting them some coffees.

And Bellamy wanted to know what he’d been saying which – it was mostly nonsense but it was sort of pointed nonsense that made Octavia roll her eyes when Clarke asked her about it.

“He’s stupid, ignore him. And I was _not_ wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

“You’ll see.”

And so Clarke waited to see, eventually forgetting about it because he woke up and he wasn’t cute anymore – he started cursing and moaning, asking Clarke to take him home.

“Define embarrassing,” she shot back, crossing her arms at her chest and grinning smugly.

“I don’t know, the usual high shit? Dragons, going gay for Caesar?”

“Nah. The doctors did laugh when they returned you here. Apparently, you’ve been telling them that I’m your favorite. The official prognosis is that you’re going to get better only if I’m here.”

“Oh, that,” he murmured, his hand darting to rub his neck as the skin of his cheeks assumed a shade of red which Clarke wouldn’t usually consider cute, but. He broke his ass falling through her window, most of their friendship was based on injuries of all kind and he _was_ cute.

So there.

“Yes, that. But don’t worry, I won’t think any less of you. You did fall out of my window and that’s – that’s pretty embarrassing. Nothing else compares.”

Bellamy flashed her a small smile, averting his gaze again as he picked the loose thread on the covers.

“That’s – uh, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. That’s why I was there last night but that didn’t go as planned.”

“You mean – you fell out of my window?”

He shot her a disapproving look and Clarke threw her hands up in surrender before standing up and moving to sit on his bed.

This close she could almost count his freckles.

“There was also a talk about making you feel mushy. If you ask me, that’s a little ungrateful because you did smoke in _my_ -“

“I’m in love with you.”

If there had been any crickets around, Clarke would have been able to hear them. It was one of those really loaded silences that mostly made her want to laugh because: a) she was shocked and b) that was a really good thing to hear from a person you’re in love with.

“Cool.”

Bellamy blinked. “Cool? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Clarke shrugged, biting into her cheek to stop herself from smiling outright because she was happy as a kid on Christmas morning but she’d make use of seeing him squirm.

What? They were assholes. They never pretended not to be.

“I mean, I _would_ kiss you but you’re weak and wounded and unable to make any serious decisions so I don’t want to use you. I’ll ask Octavia when she returns, she’s in charge of you.”

Bellamy sputtered, his eyebrows shooting up into his hair and then he seemed to realize what she’d said. In any case, she decided to rephrase it.

“Which means,” she leaned forward, looking pointedly at him, “that I’m in love with you too, you shitweasel.”

Bellamy beamed at her, one of those smiles that could light up this entire town and she hadn’t seen it for a long while. But there it was, right above his cast and under the dark circles surrounding his eyes. It was just like basking in the sun.

“You’re an asshole, Clarke,” he told her, smile still in place.

“That’s why you love me.”

When Octavia returned to the room, cursing out the line at the coffee machine, she froze in her tracks at the sight of Bellamy and Clarke kissing (in Clarke’s defense – he initiated it, she can’t be sued) and swore again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m going to puke my guts out.”

She didn’t.

But she did cry seven years later when Bellamy mentioned frozen strawberries in his vows to Clarke.

“I’m crying because my brother is so pathetic. It physically pains me,” she claimed, wiping the tears away.

Which – yeah, he was. But he was Clarke’s pathetic Bellamy and there wouldn’t come a day when she wouldn’t want him by her side.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just have one teeny tiny disclaimer: that line about Julius Caesar is not something I came up with. I found it on tumblr and thought - hey, what the fuck, Bellamy would _so_ think he's friends with Caesar! So, to whoever wrote it - thanks a lot! 
> 
> Also, I hope you liked this, and if you did - please remember the dynamic duo: kudos & comments. I assure you that I squeal like a baby guinea pig whenever I see someone wrote even one line and I'll be thankful forever! You're all amazing!
> 
> p.s. i have a [tumblr](http://marauders-groupie.tumblr.com) and i'd like to say that it's a quality blog but let's be honest, i ship bellarke so it's a mess. but it's got soul. i try.


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